Chapter 15
“Here…?”
Ronin finally came to his senses. Just as he startled and stumbled backward—
“Your Highness, whatever are you doing here?”
A clear, sharp voice rang out behind him.
Startled, Ronin turned around.
A woman with brown hair braided over one shoulder stood there. The weariness of a difficult life was etched across her face.
As Ronin studied her oddly familiar features, he remembered that she was one of the servants he had been introduced to earlier that morning.
‘Her name was…’
“I am Wyndham, the head housekeeper of the inner residence.”
‘Ah, right.’
There wasn’t a trace of warmth in her curt tone.
Ronin was long accustomed to such cold treatment, so he obediently lowered his eyes.
“…Yes, I understand. Madam Wyndham, I was only—”
“Lady.”
The title Madam was reserved for married noblewomen.
An unmarried woman should properly be addressed as Lady.
Ronin, having received the strict education expected of a central noble, naturally knew this.
He had simply assumed she must already be married since she appeared to be in her forties.
‘Early marriage is the norm in the capital… I had no idea.’
Suppressing his embarrassment, Ronin apologized.
“Ah… my apologies for the discourtesy.”
“Think nothing of it. More importantly, Your Highness should not address a mere servant with such respect. It would tarnish the reputation of someone as exalted as yourself. Please speak more casually.”
Her words were impeccably polite.
The disgust written across her face, however, remained completely undisguised.
‘So these are the people I’ll have to live with… for the rest of my life.’
It wasn’t just Wyndham.
The moment he had arrived at Leofric Castle, he had realized something.
This place would become his grave.
“I… I’ll do so little by little.”
His voice was barely audible.
Having effortlessly subdued a man both larger than herself and of far higher rank, Wyndham continued as though nothing unusual had happened.
“In any case, this area is off-limits. As you can see, this section of the castle has fallen into disrepair. One careless step could result in serious injury. Even if that doesn’t happen, it’s very easy to lose your way.”
Ronin instinctively looked around.
She was right.
This corridor was unlike the others he had walked through.
Only a handful of candles lit the passage, leaving him to watch every step he took.
This time, he thanked her sincerely.
“I see. Thank you for letting me know, Lady Wyndham.”
“Please follow me. I’ll escort you back to your room.”
As Ronin followed after her, he glanced over his shoulder.
It wasn’t intentional.
It was simply instinct.
Then something caught his eye.
‘A door? In a place like this?’
At the far end of the dark corridor was a concealed door.
Its surface was covered with wallpaper that matched the surrounding walls so perfectly that it blended into them.
From where Ronin had first been standing, it had been impossible to notice.
The door sat nearly flush with the wall, and unlike an ordinary entrance, it had no handle.
Ronin himself would have overlooked it—
Had a faint light not been leaking out from the other side.
‘…Is something in there?’
It was an eerie bluish glow.
Not candlelight.
Not the light of an oil lamp.
Something… different.
“Your Highness?”
Before his thoughts could wander any further, Wyndham called to him.
Her voice was as sharp as a whip and as piercing as a thorn.
Reluctantly, Ronin tore his gaze away and continued after her.
Even so, a lingering sense of suspicion remained in the corner of his heart.
*****
The giant of a man sat in a chair befitting his enormous frame.
On the solid wooden table before him rested nothing more than a bottle of strong liquor and a single source of light.
Without hesitation, he emptied his glass in one swallow before muttering to himself.
“So… a child of the Alistaire family walked into the North of their own accord…”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The fingers drumming against the table were just as massive as the rest of him.
Scarred and calloused beyond count, they told the story of a lifetime spent on the battlefield.
Yet more telling than anything else was the deep scar slashing across his left eye.
It was both a glorious medal earned protecting those precious to him—
And the painful reminder that he had failed to protect the one person he wished to save most.
Once again, he murmured,
“There must be a reason. Those people never make a deal unless they profit from it. They’re the sort who would sell even their own siblings if the price were right. They must have received something in exchange.”
This time, however, he wasn’t speaking to himself.
Slowly, the man raised his head.
His lone remaining eye was dark and dangerous.
“Sir Talbot. What do you think it is?”
At the question, Baldwin Talbot stepped forward.
The giant radiated an oppressive aura that would make most men hesitate to approach.
Baldwin did not.
As vice commander of the Black Wolf Knights and Callion’s most trusted subordinate, he stood here in his lord’s stead.
Calmly and decisively, he reported the results of his investigation.
“We’re still looking into it. But one thing is certain—it has nothing to do with Johanna Alistaire. His Majesty the Emperor has gone on a hunting excursion with several noble families close to him.”
“Hah! Those rats, groveling beneath the throne for a few scattered crumbs!”
The man—Galahad—made no attempt to conceal his hatred for the nobles of the capital.
The central aristocracy…
Who had encouraged Emperor Charles’s incompetence?
Those very people.
Trusting their honeyed words, Emperor Charles had abandoned House Leofric.
‘Leofric—the founding pillar of the Empire, the family that had served it with unwavering loyalty!’
Crack.
As thoughts of those men consumed him, fractures spread across the crystal wineglass in his grip.
Only after seeing the cracks did Galahad recover a measure of his composure.
And once his reason returned—
His thoughts drifted to his godson.
The young man who had just returned after spending time among those snake-like schemers and piggish opportunists.
‘And of all times, it had to be now. I doubt Charles knows anything… but the timing couldn’t be worse.’
Thinking of his godson made the liquor in his mouth taste especially bitter.
He set the untouched glass back onto the table.
The murderous aura that had threatened to erupt moments ago gradually subsided.
“…And Callion? Is the boy doing well?”
“He is. I believe this episode will be milder than the last one. During the worst periods, his suffering usually begins around this time.”
“Mm…”
Even after hearing that Callion was well, the worry never left Galahad’s face.
Callion was his only godson.
The boy had lost both parents at a young age and lived burdened by a curse he blamed on himself.
How could Galahad not worry?
Covering his face with one enormous hand, he quietly said,
“Sir Talbot… I’m entrusting Callion to you.”
His voice carried unmistakable regret and concern.
Understanding exactly how much those words weighed on his lord’s heart, Baldwin answered with renewed determination.
“Please leave him to me! Even if it costs my life, I will protect the Commander!”
At those words, Galahad lowered his hand.
A young knight, still carrying traces of boyhood, stood before him.
Yet the green eyes staring back were unwavering.
To Galahad, Baldwin was still a child.
After all, Baldwin had once served as the squire to Callion, who himself had once been Galahad’s own squire.
Entrusting his godson to someone so young left him uneasy.
Yet whenever he looked into those steadfast eyes, reassurance followed.
Better that Callion have someone reliable to lean on—
Than for an old, broken man like himself to become nothing more than another burden.
Painful as it was, that was the truth.
Then his own duty was obvious.
To help the next generation spread their wings.
‘If you want a rat to walk into a trap… you have to let it roam free. Scatter a little bait while you’re at it.’
Galahad began considering how best to make use of the “Alistaire” who had wandered into the North.
Several plans had already begun taking shape.
In every one of them, the Alistaire heir would be torn apart and used as a pawn.
But if it meant protecting his godson and the loyal knight who stood beside him—
Galahad was willing to do whatever was necessary.
‘Callion… don’t worry. If someone’s hands must be stained with blood, yours will be the very last.’
In the dim light, shadows crossed Galahad’s face.
A cold, unyielding resolve settled into his lone eye.
